


Radioactive

by Rysler



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Bad Code, Death, F/F, Sex, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:39:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5041537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rysler/pseuds/Rysler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief glimpse into Root and Shaw pillow-talk, which is depressing and brooding. Bad code, bad memories. Luckily Shaw doesn't feel much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Radioactive

Sitting on Root’s bed often led to more talking than Shaw approved of, but she keep showing back up, letting Root seduce her, make love to her, and then talk at her incessantly. 

All part of the job, she told herself. 

Shaw had certainly had sex with people before, for the job. Usually to get information, or gain trust. Once to stop an assassination. That had given her an odd sort of relief, but usually, she felt nothing. Always, she felt nothing. She could tell, though, that most of her marks felt more. Men who were rough and in control with her, or surprisingly tender, or just needing to be touched, for once. Those last would spill their secrets in gratitude, easier than the others. Women who often wanted more than once, who considered themselves connected.

As Root seemed to consider herself. Keep Root sane, save the world. A difficult task, but it didn’t make her feel anything.

Root felt so much, but didn’t give her a hard time. 

“It’s yin and yang,” Root said, trying to explain to Shaw what had seemed pretty basic already.

“Fucking,” Shaw said.

“Yes. But it’s more than that, Shaw,” Root said. “The Machine picked you for me.”

“She picked a lot of people for me to kill, too.”

That made Root’s brow crease. Her eyes widened slightly, as if to take in more of Shaw’s countenance. 

Shaw sighed. 

“She saved a lot of people, through you,” Root said, using her serious tone.

Shaw nodded. 

“Just like you’re doing now. We’re saving people.”

“Okay,” Shaw agreed.

“Don’t patronize me.”

That made Shaw smile, and made Root slap Shaw’s cheek, lightly, and smirk. 

Then Root studiously examined Shaw, from head to toe—actually staring at her big toe—and back to head again. 

“Examining my chakras?” Shaw asked.

“You’re bad code.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t feel anything. You have a disorder. You’re bad code.”

“Root—“

“Everyone is. I like to figure out what it is. I look at you and I’m looking for the typos.”

“Again?”

Root had already explained to her once that typos mostly caused bad code. Design, too, which is what made Harold a genius, yadda yadda, but that man, in his infinite failure, typed wrong. Made mistakes. Which magnified depending on the software. So people had typos too. In their DNA, hormones, whatever. Shaw had asked if God made mistakes, and had gotten chastised.

“You know She doesn’t,” Root had said. “She is perfect.”

“So, what? What does that mean?”

If Shaw was going to sit here naked, in the chilly air conditioning, with the big picture windows so Samaritan could see her, she didn’t want pseudo-intellectual babble from the mad scientist. She wanted warmth. Maybe steady breathing. Pervasive calm. “Good vibes,” she wanted to call it. Sensation, not quite feeling. Like prickling. Tickling. 

“It’s not that you can’t feel, Sameen. Who cares about that? 10% of the population is psychopaths. Bankers and CEOS—“

“Not surgeons,” Shaw interjected.

Root pursed her lips into a thin smile and shook her head. “It’s what they did to you, taking away your ability to think. That beautiful mind that became a doctor. They turned it off.”

 _Mindless killing machine_. “Okay,” Shaw said.

“The government—“ Root caught her breath. “The government is bad, Sameen.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“It breaks my heart.” 

But Root put her hand over Shaw’s heart, not her own. Pressed lightly. Shaw tried to listen for the beating. Thudding against Root’s hand. Warm fingers. It was a start.

“You’re brilliant. Otherwise I wouldn’t even—“ Root shrugged dismissively. “Anyway. You got injected with bad code.”

“And you’re going to reprogram me?”

Root laughed softly and shook her head. “She will. Not me. I’m going to—“

“God, Root,” Shaw said, not caring that she was taking Her name in vain, not caring that it would annoy Root. 

She covered Root’s mouth with her own, pressing briefly. Then again. Root mumbled against her lips and Shaw pecked. Then teased. Finally kissed the corner of Root’s smile properly. Then Root kissed her back, and they fell into each other, hands holding arms. 

It felt good, the physical sensations. It was starting to feel familiar. Even friendly. Shaw pushed Root back onto the bed, covering her. Experience counted for something. She had a lot more than Root. 

Root pushed her up lightly, so she could see Shaw’s eyes as Shaw hovered over her. 

“What do you do, Shaw?”

“I protect you. You, John, Harold. Other people. Random people... You know.”

“You protect me,” Root said, almost murmuring. 

Shaw could see the belief in Root’s gaze. The agreement. But then Root turned her head away, and a tear touched her nose. 

“Why me, Shaw?”

“Um.”

For all her supposed intellectual prowess, Shaw wasn’t great at the existential questions. That’s why Root had Harold for a playmate. Shaw and John were just the heavies. They weren’t paid to think.

Root had turned back to watch her face when she hadn’t answered. So Shaw tried again. “It’s the mission? None of us would be alive, if not for you. You saved us. More than once.”

“The biological imperative.”

Shaw leaned forward, to shut her up again, but Root evaded her. 

“What’s going on, Root? Are you going to tell me about your bad code, now?”

The flush of tears again. “Yes.” 

Shaw sat up, on the edge of the bed, her thigh pressing against the outside of Root’s. Comfort, she wasn’t good at. It was more nuanced. Harder to be mechanical. 

“I’m not just brilliant, Sameen. I’m creative. That is what makes a good programmer. Solving abstract problems. Seeing structures that aren’t there. Patterns. I could have been a painter. Or a video game programmer. I could have brought something Good to my work.”

“Yeah?”

“But Death came. Death came and showed me the way the world really is, and how He had all the power. So I became Death.”

“Isn’t that from a poem?”

Root rolled her eyes. “Death came to you, too.”

Shaw thought of her father. 

“He came and took what was innocent, and put something else there instead. Made you into His servant. A killing machine.”

“Okay.”

“That’s all we are.”

“Root—“

“I miss that little girl, Sameen.”

“You avenged her.”

“John avenged her. I just.. became something else.”

Shaw exhaled in exasperation.

“What?” Root asked.

“So you’re Death. I’m Death. We’re doing good things now, and that doesn’t mean we can’t fuck.”

Root considered. Then pulled on Sameen’s arm, so Sameen covered her again. Breasts pressed to breasts. Legs tangled together. “That’s the benefit of not having feelings. Everything sounds so logical.”

“If you’re going to ask me whether Goodness is defined by our hearts or our actions, I’m leaving.”

Root sighed and hugged Shaw’s neck, briefly strangling her, then nodded sharply. “Enough for tonight.”

Shaw balanced her chin on Root’s, so they had to look cross-eyed at each other.

“It’s just, I don’t have anyone to talk to, really.”

“I know the feeling.”

Root broke into a beaming smile. “I know you do.”

A loud boom startled them both. Shaw pressed herself down flat against Root, and glanced at the window, then the door.

Another boom, and a flash of light.

“What’s going on?” Root asked.

Neither of them had a computer, or a smart-watch, or an internet-connected phone, not with Samaritan. But Shaw finally looked at her dumb, digital watch, and said, “It’s the fourth of July.”

“What?”

Another boom. The faint sound of cheering.

“That’s my intellectual, educated guess,” Shaw said.

Root squirmed closer to the bedside table and found the remote for the room’s ancient television, which she turned on. The New York nighttime filled the screen, blurry and pixelated on the curved glass. 

“Huh.” Root said. “Ironic.”

Shaw cupped Root’s cheek and brought her gaze back to her own. “I’m kissing you. For patriotism,” Shaw said.

Root tried to protest, but Shaw didn’t let her up for air for nearly an hour. 

***

Shaw sat on the floor, back against the bed, looking out the window at the morning. Sunlight made a pattern on the floor. Shaw had a mug of coffee beside her. Things were pretty good. 

Warmth enveloped her in the form of Root’s arms, hugging her around the shoulders. Then leaving again, replaced by a chill.

“Remember, our job is to protect Harold,” Root admonished, as she padded naked to the shower.

“It’s good to have a job,” Shaw said, and let herself relax.

END


End file.
